


The One with the Kitten

by Palebluedot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, a friend wanted something ridiculously fluffy and then this happened, destiel with a kitten, getting them together, really this is so fluffy i may have cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean rescues a kitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Kitten

**Author's Note:**

> A close friend asked for a Destiel fic involving a kitten so then this happened. Enjoy.

It had only been a little cloudy when Dean left for town a couple hours ago for a quick beer/a few actual groceries run, but now, Jesus, rain’s beating down like it’s the goddamn Apocalypse all over again. He can barely see the bunker door from Baby’s windshield, and briefly contemplates just staying in the car until the storm passes because he’s not even wearing a jacket, _goddammit._

But it doesn’t show any sign of letting up anytime soon - in fact, he thinks he hears thunder somewhere in the distance, so he decides to just wing it.

Bracing himself for the inevitable leeching of all the warmth from his body, Dean grips the grocery bag tighter than is probably strictly necessary, and all but hurls himself out of the car and into the fuckin’ _hurricane_ that’s raging outside.

He fumbles a moment with the keys, (because no matter how bad it's raining, he isn't about to leave Baby unprotected because he’s not a _monster_ ) and then he’s off, sprinting as fast as humanly possible across the street, water already streaming down his face in thick rivulets and soaking through his shirt by the time he makes it to the door.

 _At least it’s summer_ , he thinks as he he tries to extract his keys from his absolutely sodden pocket. 'Course, being drowned in warm rain kinda leaves you with the feeling that you've somehow personally angered the clouds and they've decided to retaliate by pissing all over you, but hey, at least he's not gonna get hypothermia.

Dean’s finally got that goddamn house key jammed in the lock and is just about to get inside and into safety when –

_“Mrow!”_

He stops dead in his tracks, looks around, a hand drifting unconsciously to the knife on his belt. It had been high-pitched, and faint, almost lost in the percussive roar of the downpour, but he was sure he’d heard something. After a few long moments, he hears it again, a little louder this time, a little…sadder, somehow.

_“Mew!”_

It’s coming from somewhere low, by his feet so Dean crouches down, getting mud _everywhere_ , and scans the ground.

And there, cowering in the tall, thick grass by the door is a scrawny, shivering kitten, no bigger than Dean’s hand.

The thing really is pitiful, with its black fur all patchy and covered in dust turned to a thin sort of slime by the rain, and that little nick in one of its ears, but Dean steels himself. The last thing he needs is a goddamn _cat_ to take care of. He’s just about to pull himself up and go inside, _maybe_ put out some scraps for it – when he accidentally makes direct eye contact with it, and there’s something so oddly familiar in those big, blue eyes that Dean just can’t leave it out there in the cold.

He gingerly extends a hand to the kitten, and it moves in for a quick sniff before retreating into the refuge of the grass. It shivers harder.

With a great sigh of the _why me?_   variety, Dean realizes that he’s gonna have to wait for it to come to him. So much for getting dry sometime in the next century.

Finally, after several long minutes of sticking his hand into the grass like a goddamn idiot, the little fucker takes another sniff, and tentatively rubs against the side of Dean’s palm. Deciding that’s his cue to act, Dean scoops the pathetic furball close to his chest, holds it tight, grabs his now soaking grocery bag, and gets the _hell_ inside.

He heads straight for the kitchen (where it's warmest), slings the groceries unceremoniously on the table, and turns his attention back to the soggy lintball in his arms. It sneezes and shudders, so, not even wanting to _think_ about what Sam would say if he could see him now, Dean takes off his flannel and gently swaddles it around the strangely complacent kitten, cradling the sad little bundle in his arms (in a _totally_ manly way, mind you).

He stays like that for awhile, rubbing a hand down the kitten’s side through his shirt to try and warm it up a little faster. Before too long, the shivering finally subsides, but Dean thinks he can maybe feel it purring slightly.

“There you go,” Dean mutters absentmindedly, scratching the poor thing behind its mismatched ears. “That’s a little better, huh?” The kitten squawks. “Yeah, I know,” Dean croons sympathetically. “Sucks to be stuck out in the cold. You’re safe now, though….I gotcha.”

The kitten opens its eyes again, flashing those two fuckin’ huge blue orbs up at him, and Dean can’t help but stop and wonder. “Where’d you get those eyes from, huh?” he murmurs. “Only other guy I know with eyes like that’s an angel, and I may not know much about animals, but I’m pretty sure you’re just a –”

“Dean.”

Dean stops dead in his tracks. Unless the damn cat’s learned to talk, he’s been caught.

This is so, so very far from a good thing.

Hoping against hope that he was somehow wrong about whose voice that was, he turns around, and all the blood in his body rushes to his face.

He was right. It’s Cas.

_Shit._

“I can explain,” he blurts out, even though, really, what is there to explain? He’s a grown-ass man, dripping water all over the kitchen floor, he’s got mud all over his knees, and he’s talking to a goddamn kitten. This is one of the few, unfortunate situations where no excuse can save you, so he decides to say nothing at all.

Cas just squints at him, staring right through him, and man, even if Dean weren’t so damn flustered, he’d probably be blushing at this point, anyway.

“There was a kitten,” his mouth chimes in of its own accord. “And, uh, it’s raining. So I, um, took it inside. Here.”

 _“Mew!”_ squeaks the kitten in question, rather unhelpfully.

Cas just holds his gaze, face giving nothing away.

Dean swallows once, and rubs at the back of his neck with his free, kitten-less hand. “I mean, I couldn’t just leave it out there. Dude was getting drenched.”

“I see.” Much to Dean’s surprise, Cas smiles, quiet and glowing, and maybe a little bit totally adorable. There’s something kinda dangerous about the way his eyes are shining, like he knows something Dean doesn’t, and he figures that his only hope for getting out of this with his dignity intact is to call him out on it.

“…What?” It comes out a bit quieter than he intended, but with Cas looking at him like that, his mouth kinda resists doing the whole "functioning" thing.

Without a word, Cas crosses the room, and, before Dean can properly process what’s happening, he cups both of Dean’s cheeks in his palms and presses their lips together.

It’s brief.

Cas’ lips are chapped and soft and warm, and Dean’s still got that damn cat clutched to his chest, and he doesn’t have any time to do anything but stand there like an idiot, but when Cas pulls back, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Hell, he’s staring up at Dean like kissing him for no apparent reason was the most natural thing in all the world. Before Dean can so much as sputter his confusion, Cas just smiles. “Your soul is so bright,” he whispers, leaning in again, brushing the tips of their noses together. And Dean doesn’t know why or how the _fuck_ he just got so damn lucky, but he’s sure as hell not about to complain, and this time, he manages to kiss back.

***

Years down the line, they’re both sound asleep in their bed, Cas’ arm slung around Dean’s waist, their legs tangled together, breathing slow and even, with their grown, spoiled and purring black cat snuggled deep in what little space she can find between them.


End file.
